


The Beautiful Day Job

by NienteZero



Category: Leverage
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NienteZero/pseuds/NienteZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June of 2011. Parker, Nate and Eliot attend a celebratory event in Boston.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beautiful Day Job

**Author's Note:**

> I took the liberty of scooting the team back to Boston a bit early for the beginning of season four. No way did Nate miss the Cup parade.
> 
> Boston is my adopted home. I wrote this on Monday night because it was important to me to remember the times full of light. It is intended as a loving tribute to the place that won my heart and made me stay put and grow roots for the first time in my life.
> 
> As I post this tonight I am just so touched by all the ways people around the country and the world have reached out to tell Boston they care. Stay safe out there. Hug the people you love. Be kind.

"C'mon, Soph, it's been thirty nine years!" 

"I don't care, Nate. I don't particularly care to be jostled and elbowed by rowdy locals. And I don't have the kind of shoes that could withstand the sheer amount of beer that will flow through the streets. Besides, all this for a silly old cup?"

Nate really knew better than to argue with Sophie. But how could she miss out on this? 

"Well, I'm comin'," Eliot said. "Hardison? Parker?"

"No way, man. It's going to be crazy out there," Hardison said. "You have to be out of your minds."

Parker bounced on her toes, an excited smile on her face.

"I think it'll be fun!" she said.

"No picking pockets," Nate said sternly. 

The smile on Parker's face dipped a bit, but she recovered. 

"Oh well, I'm coming anyway," she said. 

Nate considered giving her a list of other forbidden activities, but thought better of it. He sighed and shrugged. Eliot would keep an eye on Parker, anyway.

"Let's go, if we're going," he said. "We want to get there early." 

The streets of Boston were already busy as Nate, Parker, and Eliot made their way toward North Station and the start of the Bruins' Stanley Cup victory parade. Every little cluster of people was wearing some variety of black and gold, and every face was smiling.

The day was almost too warm to be in full team regalia, but Eliot said they should do this thing right. Parker had to borrow a jersey from Eliot. It was way too big on her, the sleeves dangling past the tips of her fingers. It featured "Marchand" and a giant 63 on the back. Eliot was wearing a Thornton jersey, number 22. Nate's was much older than both of Eliot's, a worn and slightly faded Bobby Orr jersey. 

"So who's Marchand?" Parker asked, turning around to face Eliot and walk backwards.

"Brad Marchand. Rookie. Sweet hands, can really score goals. Got grit though, for a little guy. He really gets up in the other guy's faces. Pisses 'em off, gets a bit of growl in the game," Eliot said.

"And Shawn Thornton is the team's enforcer," Nate said. "Good taste there, I have to say."

"I respect his work," Eliot said. "Man's an artist."

"He hits people?" Parker said.

"He protects people. Protects the team," Eliot said.

When the trio reached the stretch of road near North Station that they were aiming for, there were already people lined up three deep behind a barricade. Police moved through the crowd in yellow vests, making sure no one got hurt.

"This is easily as big as the Sox parade in '04," Nate said.

"Wasn't here for that," Eliot said.

"Me neither," Parker wrinkled her nose up. "Was it as weird as this? Everyone's being so _nice_."

Nate chuckled. "Bostonians can be polite," he said.

"They're not usually, though," Parker said, as a man in a hoodie stepped to one side to let her get a clearer view of the parade route.

"It's a special feeling," Nate said. "I was a kid when they won the cup in '70, and again in '72, and the whole town's been waiting since then. The blue collar part of town, at any rate."

Even though the parade wasn't scheduled to start for another hour, the crowd was loud and cheerful, yelling player's names and starting chants.

"I don't get it," Parker said, as one chant moved through the crowd. Nate grinned and joined in.

"Yankees suck! Yankees suck!"

"I thought the Yankees were a baseball team. And didn't the Bruins beat Vancouver?" Parker asked Eliot, a look of bafflement on her face.

"Don't matter," Eliot said, smirking. "You get a crowd of Boston fans, don't matter the sport, they're going to let everyone know how much the Yankees suck."

Nate nodded. "It's like a sibling rivalry," he said. "It's a tradition that Boston fans hate New York teams. But when push comes to shove, it's all in good fun."

"B's fans hate Montreal, too," Eliot said. "But you see 'em at games, you see Canadiens fans standin' up and singing along with the 'Star Spangled Banner', you see Boston fans who know at least the English words to 'O Canada'."

"Sports connect people," Nate said. "Even rivalries connect people."

The crowd was slowly moving, morphing around in a way that would normally have been dangerous, but was tempered by a thorough seasoning of manners, 'pleases', 'thank yous' and 'excuse mes' flying thick and fast. 

Parker found herself next to an electrical box, and she looked at it with a gleam in her eye.

"Want a hand?" Eliot said, boosting her up so that she could sit on it. As soon as she was above crowd level, the crowd behind her started to yell, "Woo, Marchy!! Yeah!"

"I think they like your jersey," Nate said.

Eventually a roaring could be heard from back toward the Garden, where the team and all the support staff were rolling out on duck boats, the great amphibious tour boats with wheels that could always be seen on the streets of Boston. 

Parker didn't really recognize any of the players, but the sound of the crowd and the wave of emotion was like a solid wall of happiness. Black and yellow ticker tape floated down over the parade route, landing on the shoulders of the players. Every player looked jubilant; some of them looked as if they were shocked to find themselves here like this.

"Who's the really tall guy holding the very shiny, very big piece of silver?" Parker leaned down from her perch and yelled to Nate and Eliot.

"That's big Z," Nate said. "He's the captain. Don't get any thoughts about stealing the Cup. We're the good guys, remember?"

Parker giggled in a way that did not reassure Nate that the Cup would remain secure, and then asked, "Big Zee? What does the Z stand for?"

"Zdeno," Eliot said.

"That doesn't sound like a local name," Parker said.

"He's from Slovakia," Nate replied. "Most of the players aren't from around here, but while they wear the spoked B, they're a part of Boston."

Parker smiled to herself. Like the Leverage crew, really. Boston was an easy town to love even if you weren't born and bred in Massachusetts.

The parade rolled on, with the crowd cheering and waving to the team, the coaches, players from decades past. Even though it was hard to hear the music coming from a duck boat carrying an Irish punk band, the crowd were picking up the lyrics and singing along to the rowdy strains of "For Boston."

Parker smiled down from her vantage point. Even forgoing the simple pleasure of working a crowd like this, the mood around Parker was full of a joy and camaraderie that warmed her up in a way that she didn't understand but knew she liked. And she loved seeing her two most tightly wound team mates letting go and riding the wave of the day's emotion.

Nate looked like the kingdom of heaven had arrived on earth, and Eliot was not scowling, not at all, as they joined in the chorus of the BC fight song.

For Boston, for Boston,  
we sing our proud refrain  
for Boston, for Boston  
'tis wisdom's earthly fane  
for here are all one  
and our hearts are true  
and the towers on the heights  
reach the heavens own blue  
for Boston, for Boston  
'til the echoes ring again


End file.
